


motion sickness

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Because Mitch knows too much, now. He knows everything about him— the way he wants to be kissed, the places that make him shiver when touched lightly, how he sometimes likes it when it hurts a little. He knows that Auston is scared of the dark and the ocean, wants kids and at least two dogs and a huge house and also a lake cottage too, and that as much as he thrives in the spotlight in the biggest hockey market in the world, there’s always going to be a part of him that wishes he was just Auston, a kid from Arizona, and not Auston, the closeted professional athlete.
Relationships: Auston Matthews & Frederik Andersen, Auston Matthews & Trevor Cheek, past Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews, pre Frederik Andersen/Auston Matthews
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41
Collections: anonymous





	motion sickness

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in the middle of August based on the timeline of Auston's summer and wrote a lot of it in a very short time where I was basically just projecting lol. Obviously I was not aware of Auston's offseason charges then.
> 
> Also, as always, truly— if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
> 
> Warnings in the end notes with spoilers

On locker clean out day, Auston pulls a hat over his head and doesn’t say a word to anyone but the reporters. In a perfect world, he could stand in front of the cameras and tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and then he’d go home and everyone would laugh about it and treat him just the same as they always had.

Instead, he can feel the way all his teammates are staring at him, either like he’s a zoo animal or like he’s the biggest douchebag they’ve ever met. He doesn’t know, and doesn’t really care either way, at this point. 

He must sound horrible, his voice scratchy and hoarse. There’s no way to hide the fact that he’s cried for almost 24 hours straight, but at least he can play it off as being all about the loss, so he keeps his head down and keeps the bullshit to a minimum. 

Somewhere across the room, Mitch has to talk to the media too. Auston doesn’t even dare look over there. He tortures himself instead, running through all these wild scenarios in his head as he packs, but as he throws his gear into his bag he mostly wonders if Mitch looks as sad and messed up as he does, and then if it makes him a shitty person that he hopes that Mitch does, a little bit. 

He can’t be here anymore. He took care of everything he needed to before his interview, clearing his medical shit with the trainers and getting a quick yet still painful meeting in with Babs, and then Kyle, too. He did all of that so he could make his escape quickly, and he slips out of the room before anyone can stop him. 

Not quickly enough, apparently, because someone calls his name before he can make it out of the hallway.

“Auston,” Freddie says. “Wait up.”

Auston turns around, and Freddie’s doing this half jog thing to close the gap.

“Hey,” Auston manages. He just wants to go. 

Freddie clearly studies him for a few seconds. “Is everything okay?”

Auston nods. “Just sad about the season, that’s all,” he lies.

Freddie’s face softens, and he reaches out to put a hand on Auston’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. You played great.”

He wants to laugh at that, because even if it wasn’t entirely his fault he sure as shit didn’t play _great_ in the last game, with his big fat zero points in the game that it mattered. Certainly wasn’t even good enough in Babs’ eyes to get off the bench when the season was on the line. He doesn’t know how many minutes he played in game 7, and he doesn’t care to find out. All of this coupled with another injury ridden season— he might just delete Twitter like a coward. 

He settles for shrugging instead. “Sure. Thanks, man.”

By the time he realizes he maybe should’ve said something nice back to Freddie, the pause has already dragged on too long for him to open his mouth.

Freddie doesn’t even look like he noticed, though he still seems concerned. “Is there something else? It just, I don’t know, seems like maybe there’s more on your mind.” 

There’s a small bloom of relief that Freddie genuinely seems to have no idea what happened— not yet, at least. But still, there are few things Auston wants to do less right now than talk about his feelings with one teammate two days after he had just ruined everything with another, and two days after they all just got their asses handed to them in the first round for the third straight season. 

“No,” he says, clipped. Mitch can say whatever the fuck he wants about Auston, but Auston isn’t going to say shit. It’s nobody’s business.

Obviously that does nothing to ease the concern on Freddie’s face, but at least he’s sensible enough to read the _leave me alone _vibes Auston’s putting out so hard right now. 

“Okay. I’m here if you need anything though.”

Auston looks down at the floor, so he doesn’t have to meet Freddie’s painfully sincere gaze. “Yeah,” he says.

“Have a good summer, Matts.” Then he finally takes his hand off Auston’s shoulder. Auston is pathetic enough to miss the weight of it immediately.

“You too, Fred,” he replies. He lifts his hand awkwardly in a little half wave, then goes and gets the fuck out of Toronto.

The Arizona heat is already present in full force at the end of April, dry and crackling. It’s nothing like Toronto, and it’s perfect. He almost cries in relief as it hits him like a wave when he walks out of the airport. His dad is there to pick him up, wrapping him up in a hug and purposefully not commenting on how shitty he knows he looks. 

“Good to have you home, kid,” his dad says, and Auston swallows around the lump in his throat.

Being home is easier, but it doesn’t help much. It’s not like being around his family means that none of the shit with Mitch ever happened or that the season didn’t end the way that it did. Instead, when he’s feeling like being especially awful and sad, he thinks of the fact that he’s home in April as nothing but a reminder that they blew it again. 

He knows he has to get surgery in a few days, so he spends the time leading up to it being the mama’s boy he is, lying wordlessly with his head in her lap and watching the ceiling fan spin around and around, tuning out everything and pushing away the terrible thoughts in his head. She strokes her hand through his hair the way she did when he was a kid, not even caring that he’s 21 and somehow worse at talking to his own mother now than he was when he was 6. 

“Oh, Papi,” she says, as gentle as her touch. And he closes his eyes, stays silent, pretending he can’t read any of the questions in her tone of voice.

The nurses reassure him multiple times that it’s going to be a really simple procedure, and it won’t even keep him from training for more than a few weeks. And once it’s done, all the back pain he’s been dealing with for years will go away for good. 

Still, he’s nervous, and he runs through all the worst case scenarios in his head until he feels sick with it. If he can never play hockey again—

“It’s going to be okay,” his mom says, cutting that terrible train of thought short. He’s not proud of the fact that her squeezing his hand is the only thing that can calm him down right now. 

Before they release him, they give him pain meds that help a lot but also make him sleepy, and he passes out in the car on the way home and then again when he staggers inside. 

When he wakes up, the pain in his knee a dull throb, he lies in bed and feels sorry for himself, watching Netflix for hours until he can take another pill and go to sleep again. Being groggy and hurt sucks— he feels like shit not being able to do anything, and even worse when he’s being coddled by everyone in his life who comes to check in on him, only to leave him alone again. 

Even like this, drugged up and tired, he involuntarily thinks about Mitch, feeling pathetic about it but resigned nonetheless. Mitch hadn’t texted him after his surgery, probably still pissed at him, but he didn’t tell anyone on the team it was happening for a reason, so maybe it’s for the best. Besides, he might’ve done something stupid while loopy on medication or hurting and itching for comfort, like tell Mitch he was in love with him or apologize for what he said and beg him to— to what? Take him back? Feel the same way about him? Date him for real? 

He just wants it all to stop, but his knee is hurting again, and it’s still another hour before he can take more meds, so all he can think about is how he wishes someone who wasn’t his own mother cared enough to lie there with him until the pain goes away.

Auston finishes an episode of Narcos, then takes his medication with the dinner his mom brings him in bed. Only a few more days of this and he’ll be able to get up and walk on his own again, and he can go out and feel slightly less useless and sad about himself. 

He’s slumped against the pillow and blinking heavily, laptop pushed off to the side, when his phone rings. 

At first, he’s stupid enough to think that maybe it’s Mitch. Maybe Mitch saw the news on Twitter and wanted to check in, or say something more, like he’s sorry and he forgives Auston, too. It’s not Mitch though, which a big part of him knew already, but it doesn’t mean he’s not disappointed.

“Freddie?” he answers when he picks up the phone, wary. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk to anyone on the team. But Freddie had texted him sporadically all day when he had found out, presumably from the PR tweet that Auston had gotten surgery. Auston had ignored them all, tossing his phone to the other side of the bed out of a strange mix of fatigue, avoidance, and guilt. So it’s the least he can do to at least pick up after weeks of silence, and after keeping something as big as this from one of his best friends.

“Hey, Matts,” Freddie says, gentle. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Auston sighs, and it comes out as a whisper. 

“You okay?” Freddie asks. “I can barely hear you, bud.”

“Meds,” he mumbles.

A part of him wants Freddie to push, to get mad at him for being a closed off asshole since the season ended. That would at least show that Freddie gave a shit, because no one else does. But it’s Freddie, and he knows better by now than to expect anything from him but angelic patience, which would normally comfort him, but just makes him feel guiltier and shittier now. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Freddie says. “I heard that— you know. You had surgery, and I wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks,” Auston whispers, just as soft as before.

“But— Auston? Why didn’t you say anything about getting surgery?”

Auston wants to break his phone into pieces. “Sorry,” he settles on, finally. 

“It’s okay. I— well. I was just worried something had happened, when I saw. Are you at home now?” 

“Yeah,” Auston answers.

Freddie pauses for a second, and all Auston can hear is the sound of his breathing, and Freddie’s, on the other end of the line. 

“How is everything else?” Freddie tries. He’s trying to ask about something else entirely, and despite how tired he is, Auston starts to panic. “How are _you_?” 

“‘M okay,” Auston says, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s unconvincing, to say the least, with these one word answers. “Tired.” 

“I talked to Mitch,” Freddie starts, and Auston blows out a breath. He doesn’t know what else he was expecting— he knows Mitch well enough to know that after something like this, he wouldn’t pull away into himself like Auston does. He needs comfort from someone else, and that someone, at one point, used to be Auston. Hell, the whole team probably knows by now, which does nothing but make Auston seem more like an idiot and an asshole at the same time. That would explain the radio silence from everyone, anyway.

Auston doesn’t say anything. Maybe Freddie’s like everyone else, protective and probably on Mitch’s side and calling to chew Auston out for all the horrible things he said to Mitch that night. If he could take it back now, he would, but obviously it’s too late. It seems so childish in hindsight, the way he lashed out so aggressively and acted so out of line just to protect himself, all because Mitch didn’t, or _never, _really, liked him back like that. 

“If you ever want to talk about it, just tell me, okay?” Freddie says. 

“Yeah,” Auston says, noncommittal. But he knows he’s never going to. Nothing he says is going to make everything normal again. He wishes that Freddie believed him when he said he was okay, even though Freddie’s always been perceptive, and even over the phone, he’ll know Auston’s a liar. It would be easier if he had just never let himself get involved with Mitch in the first place, and thought with his head instead of his heart. Then he wouldn’t have to act like the team doesn’t exist, and they wouldn’t have to do the same with him. 

The meds are kicking in, and Auston’s getting to the point where he just wants to enjoy the feeling of floating instead of talking or thinking about this any more. He doesn’t need anyone to make him feel bad for what he did— he does enough of that himself.

“I’ll let you go then,” Freddie says, and Auston blinks slowly, eyes sliding shut already. “Get well soon, Auston.”

“Bye, Fred,” Auston replies, and hangs up the phone. 

His knee heals fine, and all he has to do to keep recovering is wear a compression sleeve to help with swelling, and stay off his feet as much as he can for a bit longer. It makes him feel better, more human, once he can get out of bed and help Trevor move into their new place together, just a few miles away from his parents’ house. 

It’s only been a week, so he can’t do a ton of heavy lifting, but Trevor calls a bunch of the guys, and they carry all the stuff Auston can’t yet. It’s embarrassing, having to have all these older guys help him out because his body’s all messed up, but they don’t tease him about it, which helps. 

Trevor is a good roommate, and a good chef too, which saves Auston from having to butcher all his own meals, or fuck up his summer diet by going out to eat every day. The only downside, really, is that Trevor insists on keeping up with the playoffs every night, when Auston wants nothing more than to smash the TV into pieces. Or just turn it off and pretend like hockey doesn’t exist. Either or. 

His parents come by a few days after the move to drop off some mail, because he’s forgetful and never updated his mailing or forwarding address. 

There are two save the dates in the pile, and the sight of them immediately makes him nauseous. He drops the other shit (bills, random magazine subscriptions, junk that he’ll never look at) onto the kitchen counter, then hides in his room with the two envelopes in hand. 

Of course he knew both Zach and Marty were getting married this summer. He’d actually been excited when he found out they were on back to back days, and none of the guys could stop talking about how much fun it was going to be, him included. But so much has gone on since then that it slipped his mind, and now he’s just filled with dread at the thought of having to attend both in one weekend and see everyone for two whole days, no breaks, while every person there knows what he’s done. 

There’s a space for a plus one, too, and that just makes it all worse, the thought that Mitch would bring someone as he showed up empty handed and broken hearted, all while still being the guy no one wants to talk to anymore. Besides, Marty and Zach are both much closer with Mitch than with him— there’s no way they’d want him there anyway.

Auston does a perfunctory google search on his phone.

Then he goes to the half set up office space, grabs two sheets of Trevor’s fancy stationery, and writes in his shitty crooked handwriting some bullshit excuse about being too busy with family to attend, but he wishes he could be there. He’ll take everything home tomorrow, and have his mom help him mail them back.

Two weeks later, he’s given clearance to return to most normal activities, as long as he’s got the compression sleeve on. He’s still not allowed to workout or skate, so he spends a lot of time bumming around the house and following Trevor and his friends around. 

When he’s not hanging out with Trevor, swimming in their pool or golfing, or even taking a trip to LA for a few days, he’s with his family. They celebrate Father’s Day, go out to eat all the time, and even go to game nights. He golfs with his little sister, gets his ass kicked, and then threatens to leave her at the course if she doesn’t let up and let him win one. 

There’s no way his family doesn’t notice the way he’s spent so much more time with them than normal this summer, but maybe it’s the way he still seems withdrawn despite how hard he tries not to be that makes them refrain from asking questions. 

They don’t know about the Mitch thing, or the gay thing, or the fact that he’s still stupid over someone who didn’t want him, even after he fucked it all up. They’re still waiting for him to bring a girl home one day and introduce them all. But Auston doubts they’ll get that for a long time, because when he imagines it, it’s still Mitch that he sees standing with him at his front door, sitting on his childhood bed and making fun of the Shane Doan posters on his wall.

In the long run, he thinks, he doesn’t want to go back to Mitch, even if he thinks that’s what he wants right now. The memory will always be too painful to let go of, even if they manage to paint over it again with newer, better ones. It’s all pointless to think about anyway, because Mitch is never going to love him, and none of these hypotheticals will ever come true. And even if he did, Auston might never want to try again. 

Mitch made him scared. He’s scared to be in love with Mitch, and he’s scared to fall in love with anyone else ever again. He’s scared to be touched again, and he’s scared for someone to know him as well as Mitch did, because he had been scared to open up and let Mitch see every terrible, twisted, shameful thing about him, only for Mitch to leave him anyway. Mostly, he’s scared he’ll be sad and hopeless like this forever, unlovable and unwanted, fucked up for the rest of his life over a meaningless 6 month fling. 

The sun sets slowly as he and Trevor make their way home from the golf course, stopping to pick up pizza for dinner because they’re both too tired to cook, and they deserve a cheat day every once in a while anyway. 

Auston stands outside while Trevor goes in to pick their food up and stares at his messages, all meaningless shit with nothing but radio silence from Mitch, and not a word from the rest of his team. It’s probably unfair to himself to sit here expecting a text from someone who he called a selfish asshole and told to go fuck himself, and then barreled on with worse. It’s definitely unfair to everyone involved to say that Mitch made him the way he is now, because it’s clear everyone else can see that he did it to himself.

He brings Trevor to the NHL Awards in Vegas midway through June, the two of them planning to have a bros weekend, and Auston telling himself he’s not going to mope through it all. 

Auston hasn’t been out much this summer, chose not to help at camps or attend charity stuff, because his sad presence would do nothing but scare everyone away. So he’s sweating through his suit with nerves by the time he has to get on stage for the NHL 20 cover reveal, and he barely manages to give a passable speech when he gets pushed into the spotlight. 

He vaguely registers the fact that Mitch and everyone on his team are going to see him on TV, or on Twitter, or on Instagram, all sweaty and nervous with his face plastered on the cover. He’s paranoid they’re going to be able to see how tired he is, and how desperate he is for them to tell him they forgive him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he lets himself hope that once he’s done on stage, then done with the promo stuff backstage too, he’ll have some nice messages waiting for him on his phone, or at least something to let him know they cared enough to watch. 

He’s still dumb enough, after two months, to let himself be crushed when there’s nothing.

Trevor is waiting for him backstage, and he takes one look at the expression on Auston’s face when he pulls his phone out and drags him back into the hotel.

“We’re drinking here tonight,” Trevor says as he pushes Auston to sit on the bed. “Get your suit off, c’mon.” 

Part of Auston wants to protest, because he knows how he gets when he’s drunk, needy and annoying, emotional and useless. He was like that with Mitch more than a few times, and it’s humiliating how easy he was when he got alcohol in him, and embarrassing to think that was probably part of the reason Mitch needed to fuck other people to get away from dealing with him all the time. 

“Suit.” Trevor throws a pair of shorts and a shirt at him, then returns with the alcohol they bought earlier. 

Needless to say they both get drunk that night, Auston much worse than Trevor. It’s probably because Trevor doesn’t have tons of emotional baggage that he’s been lugging around for months, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing when he inevitably ends up slumped and near tears against the foot of the bed. 

“You okay, bud?” Trevor asks. His words come out slowly, the alcohol getting to him. 

“No,” Auston says, the drinks making him honest, then takes another swig, grimacing as it burns. “I am so fucked up.” 

“I know,” Trevor says, just as truthful. “I’m your roommate, Matts. I can tell.” 

Auston lets his head thunk back against the mattress, and closes his eyes so he can resist the urge to turn and look at Trevor. 

“Cheeker,” he says. “I’m gonna tell you something, and you gotta promise not to yell at me, ‘kay?” 

He shouldn’t do this. He’s drunk, and sober him would never allow himself to spill his guts like this, let himself be vulnerable in front of the only close friend he has left. But his self control is shot, and he’s so fucking sad. 

“Okay,” Trevor says. “Hit me.” 

Auston takes a shaky breath, eyes still closed. He feels like he’s going to cry already, and he hasn’t said anything yet. 

“I fucked around with a guy for six months,” he starts. He’s pretty sure Trevor knows he’s gay and cool with it, so he hopes that doesn’t come as a shock, and if it does, and if he hates him now, Trevor will be too drunk to punch him for it. “I thought, you know, you fuck one person and no one else for six months and it’s gotta be serious, right? I mean, we weren’t dating, officially, but I _thought—_”

“Auston,” Trevor says, gentle like he knows where this is going. He’s such a fucking cliche, so predictable that it makes him want to laugh. 

“He was— Cheeker, I was in love with him. I still love him, probably.” His eyes start to burn, and he squeezes them shut so he won’t cry. “And he was fucking other people the whole time. The whole time, and I didn’t know.” 

This time, when Trevor speaks, his voice is a lot louder, coming from right by him. Auston opens his eyes, and Trevor’s sitting next to him on the floor. “You don’t have to keep going, Aus. Hey, it’s okay.”

Auston shakes his head. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop, and everything is tumbling out. “I found out the day we lost game seven,” he says, and then he really does laugh, because how fucking perfect is that? Of course it would’ve been that night, because he hadn’t felt shitty enough already. “And then I said some horrible things. I mean like— like so bad. You know how I get when I’m— when I get mad.”

“It’s okay,” Trevor says again, just as soft, even though they both know it isn’t. “You were upset.”

Suddenly Auston needs more to drink, because he can’t be drunk enough yet if the memories of all the words he spit out at Mitch that night are coming back this clearly and with such force. He remembers Mitch’s face, eyes teary and pained like Auston had slapped him, and he feels so bad about it all over again he wants to punch himself. 

“I told him that I hated him. I yelled at him for _so long, _and the whole time— the whole time I had forgotten we weren’t even— we were never dating. I told him I _hate _him, and he didn’t even do anything wrong.”

He can feel himself start crying, and he tries to get the bottle to his mouth again to at least muffle the sounds, like Trevor isn’t sitting right there to see it. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he chokes out. “I don’t mean it.” 

“I think that’s enough, huh?” Trevor says, and pries the bottle gently from his hands. Auston lets his grip go slack, and then tips over sideways and leans on Trevor’s shoulder. 

There’s a lot more he wants to say, because that night where Mitch had walked out of their hotel room was only the beginning of a landslide. If he could make himself stop crying, he’d tell him that he knows it’s his fault, but he wishes someone on the team would’ve taken his side, or at least pretended to. He’d say that he feels sick with worry almost all the time, that he’s never going to feel whole again, and that somehow everything will continue to go wrong until he’s even more alone than he is now. And then he’d say that him realizing how destructive he really is only forces him to accept that all the shitty things he hates about himself is who he really is, and who he has been all along, and he doesn’t know if there’s any changing that.

But he can’t say any of that, not while thinking and processing all of this is making him feel like he’s submerged in water, so he stays quiet. Trevor just lets Auston lean on him and cry himself out, and the two of them sit there for a long time, room silent save for the sounds of the Strip down below. 

It’s not like letting it all out to Trevor changes anything. Like, Auston didn’t even say Mitch’s name, and he’s not exactly sure if Trevor had been sober enough to put all of that together. But it does help a little, because Trevor knows, and he’s still here the next day. 

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want,” Trevor says. He’s driving them home from the airport, Auston still nursing a hangover coupled with fatigue from the plane in the passenger seat. “But you should talk to someone. I mean not just to me, which you can still do, obviously. More like— like a professional.” 

Auston can’t help but snort, and rests his head against his wrist, propped up against the window. 

“I’m fine.”

Trevor glances over. “No offense, but you’re really not. And I’m saying this because I care, dude.” 

“I don’t need a therapist, what the fuck,” Auston snaps, and he can feel his defenses going up involuntarily. “I’m not crazy. Just drop it, alright?” 

“That’s really not what a therapist is for, and you know that.” Trevor pulls up slowly to a red light, and then turns to look fully at Auston. Trevor never bullshits him, which he’s normally grateful for, but now his gaze is making him squirm uncomfortably.

Sure, it’s not for crazy people. But— how dumb would it seem if someone found out he had to go see a shrink for this? What would they even think? That he can’t handle being the face of the Leafs? He’s too weak to be a pro athlete, much less one that makes 11 million a year? Or that he just got sick of being an asshole and needed someone to talk him into normalcy? He doesn’t need help. 

“Maybe,” Auston relents, once the light turns green and Trevor has to look away. He doesn’t want to think about what he told Trevor last night, regret sinking in for real now. The fact that someone knows— no matter how he spins it, it still sucks. 

Obviously he’s not actually going to. It’s just to get Trevor off his back for now, so he can at least try to enjoy the rest of his summer, before he eventually has to face all his problems head on in Toronto again. 

Despite getting out of Marty and Zach’s wedding with zero effort, his buddy Ryan is also among those tying the knot this summer, and this time he can’t bail since he and all the Arizona guys got roped into being groomsmen. So that’s how he finds himself here, sweating in a black tux and bow tie, digging his nails into his own palms so hard he’s vaguely afraid he’s going to break skin.

The smile he forces feels so fake he’s not sure how no one can see right through it. He watches Ryan kiss his— his _wife, _and instead of feeling joy, he thinks he might throw up. 

But he keeps smiling, cheering along with the rest of the guys when appropriate, and wonders when he became the asshole that spends one of his best friends’ weddings being too selfish and cynical to be happy for someone else.

“That was beautiful,” Trevor says to him, nudging him following toasts. 

Truthfully, Auston wasn’t really listening. He doesn’t think he could’ve handled it if he had actually tuned into all the nice things people were saying about Ryan, all the bullshit about what it looks like when two people are not only stupidly in love but also perfect for each other. 

He and Trevor are seated close, and if Auston let his legs fall open more he could knock their knees together and make it seem like an accident, or like he’s flirting. Maybe if he gulped down a few more drinks, if Trevor did too and was a little less straight, Auston could convince him to fuck him when they got back to the hotel. Maybe he could get drunk enough to convince himself that _that’s _the solution, sleeping with (another) one of his roommates that doesn’t want him like that, if only so that Mitch won’t be the only person in the world anymore that he ever let inside him. 

But even his fucked up brain knows it’s stupid and self destructive, even by his standards. Letting Trevor ruin him isn’t going to change the fact that Mitch already did. 

“Yeah,” Auston says, finally, and then gets up to get more drinks before Trevor has the chance to comment on the way he probably sounds like he’s going to cry. 

He was so stupid to let himself be so vulnerable around Mitch. It had taken everything he had to finally let his guard down for once, and it felt so freeing at the time. Now he only feels regret and shame. 

He keeps replaying in his head the first time he let Mitch fuck him, how Mitch looked like he’d been punched when Auston spread his legs like a fucking slut and asked for it, and how he had been stupid enough to mistake that look for anything other than lust. He’d said _please_, and now he feels so sick that Mitch knows how much he liked it, how much he wanted it. He knows and he didn’t care, and in the end Auston’s just left with the memory of what it felt like to be filled up and cared for, even if it wasn’t real. 

Trevor appears beside him again after a few moments, when Auston’s already downed a few more drinks so his hands can stop shaking, and he can stop ruining the best day of his friend’s life. 

“Woah,” Trevor says, putting a hand on Auston’s shoulder. “Slow down there, eh?” Then he takes Auston’s drink from his slack fingers, and finishes the rest of it himself with a small smile. 

Auston closes his eyes, just for a moment. 

“You’re going to have to carry me home tonight,” he says. He can hear the way his words are running together already. Hopefully soon, he won’t be able to register it at all.

“What are friends for, right?” Trevor jokes, slinging his left arm around Auston’s shoulders, and Auston has to summon every ounce of willpower he has left to not lean into the warmth on his right. 

Auston is still puking his guts out the next morning when his phone rings. It makes his head spin, feeling like it’s going to split open if that sound doesn’t shut up. 

He reaches blindly for his phone on the floor, fumbling to shut it off until he catches a glimpse of who’s calling. 

It’s Patty, and a part of him still wants to ignore the call so Patty doesn’t clue into the fact that Auston has resorted to the very low solution of drinking all his problems away, but Patty also usually doesn’t call without texting first. Auston picks up the phone, hitting speaker then setting it back down.

“Hello,” he says, mouth so dry it’s uncomfortable to speak. 

“Auston,” Patty says, serious and sad. Immediately Auston can tell something’s wrong. “I wanted to tell you before you heard from anyone else.” 

Panic starts to set in, because he knows exactly where this is going but he can’t make himself believe it. 

“I got traded,” Patty says, and Auston closes his eyes. “To Carolina. They’re going to buy out my contract, and I’m going to try and go home to San Jose. It’ll be good for the kids, and well,” Patty laughs. “I’m getting old. Gotta think about life after hockey, right?” 

When Auston doesn’t reply, Patty continues. “I’m really going to miss you, Auston. I know I can’t really tell you how much you and Mitch meant to me these past two years, but—” Patty cuts himself off, shaky, like he’s going to cry. 

And that’s the last straw. Not just the mention of Mitch or the memory of finding comfort sharing a bed with the two of them, but the realization that Patty is getting this emotional over him. There’s been this pressure building in his chest as Auston realized what he was calling for, and now he can feel it pushing at his ribcage like he’s going to burst any second. 

“I know,” Auston says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I know. I feel— same here,” he finishes, lame. He’s not good with his words. He’s even worse with his feelings. He has no idea what to say to Patty, who basically adopted him and made sure he was never alone and always had a place to go when things were rough, or even just when he wanted company or attention. 

Selfishly, it all just feels so unfair to him, like the universe is telling him this summer is going to be the worst he’s ever had and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. He doesn’t deserve this. Or maybe he does— he doesn’t know if there is a good explanation for all of it. 

“Are you okay?” Patty asks. Auston almost laughs, feeling completely empty and hollowed out. Even before Patty called, the answer to that would’ve been absolutely not. And now— Auston doesn’t know if there’s a word or phrase that can truly emphasize and fully encompass just how not okay he is, but whatever it is. Yeah. That’s it. 

“I can’t do this,” Auston chokes out. He’s aware he’s being dramatic, but he can’t help it now. “One second,” he says. Then he leans over the toilet and empties his stomach again, head pounding and throat burning. 

“Auston,” Patty says, when he picks up the phone again after a few moments of dry heaving to make sure he’s done. He sounds really worried now, and Auston can’t have that. Here he is again, making another moment about _him_. “What’s going on? Did you just throw up? Are you okay?” he asks again.

Auston leans his cheek against the cool porcelain of the seat, letting his eyes close again and taking just a few seconds to breathe. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m just— I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go.” He sounds like a little kid, and he feels like one, too.

“It’s business,” Patty replies, and Auston can imagine the small smile he would be giving Auston right now, trying to reassure him. That makes it worse. “Just know, Matty, that I’m always going to be here for you, alright? Never forget how good you are.” 

Auston knows what he means, even if he doesn’t really believe any of it, especially not right now, an absolute wreck on a hotel bathroom floor and eyes stinging with tears. 

“Love you,” Auston says, and then he really starts crying. 

“Love you, too, bud,” Patty says, choked up. “Always.” 

That’s how Trevor finds him when he finally wakes up later. 

He doesn’t even say anything when he sees Auston sitting back against the side of the tub, knees drawn up and crying so hard he can’t even speak. But either Trevor’s seen the news of the trade too, or he doesn’t care what’s making him like this, and he just sits next to him and pulls him into a hug and lets him cry. 

“I hate this,” Auston manages in between sobs. He hates himself, hates his life, hates how it feels like every good thing is just being torn away from him one by one. Maybe by the time the season rolls around, he’ll have nothing left. Hockey, Toronto, all of that feels so far away right now. 

“I know,” Trevor says, running a hand through Auston’s sweaty and disgusting hair as Auston pushes his wet face into his shoulder. “I know, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” and he sounds just as sad as Auston. There should be some comfort there, that Trevor’s here and holding him despite the fact that he’s a mess, and he cares enough to be sad too just because Auston is.

But there isn’t, not even a little bit.

Auston knows he acts like an asshole the rest of the week, and if he had any sense of self-preservation left, he’d apologize to Trevor and maybe even make his life easier by not being a dick, but his life fucking sucks. From Patty’s trade, to the anticipation of the fallout of being absent at the weddings the coming weekend, to the whole Mitch thing still looming like a storm cloud over him— he’s stressed. He’s even more anxious than he normally is, and it makes him snappish and mean. 

To top it off, Auston gets into a shoving match with someone when they’re skating, a one on one battle drill that got too chippy and competitive, and their skills coach makes Auston get off the ice and sit on the bench like he’s a little kid. He’s furious, angry all the time, and it keeps coming out at the worst of times. Even when it doesn’t, it’s a simmering heat under his skin, irritating and distracting normally, and all consuming and terrifying and its worst. 

Trevor doesn’t speak to him when they drive home, which is understandable but not any less annoying. It’s pissing Auston off, as almost everything is, and he makes sure to slam every door on his way into the house to— he doesn’t know. To prove a point, or something. 

“Are you making lunch,” Auston says, flat, already digging in the fridge for a water bottle.

“There’s leftovers from last night.” Trevor’s reply is short, clipped, and great, now Trevor’s actually mad at him, too. 

“Do you want to watch something while we eat?” Auston tries, but it comes out cold and uninviting.

Trevor scrubs a hand at his face, exasperated. “I don’t really want to be around you right now, okay?”

And that hurts, even though Auston knows he deserves it. Maybe he overestimated Trevor’s patience, or how much Trevor actually likes him. He knows he should apologize. He shouldn’t be taking his anger out on the person who watched him cry like a baby multiple times this summer and still cared enough to stay. He should calm down, and fix things right now before it gets out of hand. But—

“Fine, asshole,” he mutters, and stalks away to his room before Trevor can reply. 

Things are tense for days, neither of them willing to break the silence first. Auston definitely isn’t going to apologize, mostly because he doesn’t know how, or what he would say. The same as the thing with Mitch— he can never own up to his own mistakes. 

Marty gets married on Saturday, and Auston spends the whole night clicking through Instagram and Snapchat stories and torturing himself with it. Literally everyone is there, former and current Leafs alike, and it’s only until he catches glimpses of Mitch, smile wide and bright, hair sweaty and tousled and dress shirt halfway unbuttoned— that he decides it’s probably for the best that he turns his phone off and just goes to bed. 

Sunday is no better. Normally, he and Trevor might spend their day off golfing together, but with the current strain between them courtesy of his stupid mouth, he’s stuck between staying in alone or just going home. But if he went home now, tried to hang out with his sisters while knowing everyone’s having a great time without him in Toronto, his parents would find out right away that something is seriously wrong.

He wishes he could at least sleep while everyone floods social media with footage of Zach and his wife, happier than Auston has ever seen him. But as tired as he is, he can’t fall asleep either, not with the intimate knowledge that life goes on perfectly fine without him. Maybe even better. 

He had hoped, a little selfishly, that maybe Marty or Zach would’ve reached out when they saw his response in the mail, saying they wished he could have been there, too, or asked what was really wrong. Those letters he wrote weren’t even remotely believable. He’s man enough to admit that those replies, and almost everything he does these days is pretty much a cry for help in some way or another. He just wishes the people he wanted help from would spare even a second for him, or he was brave enough to accept it from anyone else. 

This weekend feels like rock bottom in more ways than one, with no one in his life really willing to talk to him anymore, and all seeming better off with that decision. He spent a long time bracing himself for fury and anger and dreading it too, but now that he’s been hit square in the face with nothing but apathy, he honestly wishes someone had yelled at him, at least. It feels like there’s nowhere to go from here, except to somehow let it get worse. 

Freddie texts him the next afternoon while he’s still hiding away in his room. He had worked out in the morning, done his on ice stuff after lunch, all of it while saying less than maybe ten words total to Trevor. He briefly wondered how long this terrible silence between them was going to last, and then realized it would probably last as long as it takes him to figure out how to finally say sorry.

_Missed you this weekend_, Freddie’s sent, and Auston’s torn between wanting so much to believe it and trying to squash the tiny flicker of hope that blooms in him. 

_Had family shit, sry, _Auston types back. He doesn’t know if anyone asked after him, or if Zach or Marty had bothered to say anything about him. Maybe they all forgot he existed in the emotional blur of the two days, and only Freddie is just now remembering Auston wasn’t there at all. 

The little gray typing bubbles appear and disappear no less than three times as Auston stares at his phone for what feels like forever. Whatever Freddie’s thinking about saying, Auston really doubts he wants to hear it.

He adds a quick double text just to keep up the facade, and to let Freddie know he was at least there in spirit, or whatever the fuck. _Looks like u guys had fun tho :) _

The text gets read immediately, but this time there’s no immediate sign of a response. Then his phone rings. 

Auston doesn’t know why Freddie insists on calling him at bad times, especially when he’s going through some of his lowest points, instead of when he’s like, feeling semi-normal out in the sun on the golf course or something. 

“Hello?” Auston answers. 

“Hey, Matts,” Freddie says, voice low. “How’s it going?” 

Auston frowns. “Why didn’t you just text back?”

There’s a brief pause. “Kind of missed just talking to you, I guess. Since you weren’t there this weekend, you know.” Freddie says, tentative. 

“Really?” Auston asks, surprised. 

“Well, yeah,” Freddie says slowly, then laughs a little bit. “You’ve kind of been MIA all summer.” That’s an understatement, but the fact that Freddie noticed— that Freddie cares. That’s… that’s something. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.” It comes out far more self deprecating than he intended, and he winces, hoping Freddie won’t notice. 

But of course, he’s Freddie, so he does. “Hey, come on, Matts. We’re still team. Of course I want to talk to you.”

Auston doesn’t know why he feels like that can’t possibly true, despite how earnest Freddie sounds, and how Freddie never lies to him. “Even after…” He trails off, leaving Freddie to fill in the blanks. (_Even after I told Mitch he was a slut, even after I ran away and I still haven’t said sorry, even after I kept everything from you, even after I bailed on two of our friends on the best days of their lives—_)

“Even after that,” Freddie says, firm. Talking about Mitch, probably. “I don’t know exactly what happened, anyway, so.” 

It’s clear that’s Auston’s cue to tell his side of the story. He has no idea what Mitch said had happened, and Freddie doesn’t sound like he’s going to elaborate. For all he knows, Mitch had made him sound like a monster, and that’s why everyone thinks he’s an asshole now. Or maybe Mitch had told the exact truth, and that’s the conclusion they came to on their own. 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Auston says, and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t even want to think about it, not when he has more pressing problems right now, like the fact that his roommate is still giving him the cold shoulder. 

“That’s fine,” Freddie says smoothly. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to? Toronto’s been pretty boring so far.” Auston can tell Freddie’s treading carefully, picking every next word so he doesn’t scare Auston off. That thought makes him warm, that Freddie cares enough to want to keep him on the line. 

“Same here,” Auston replies, then hesitates. 

Eventually, he says, “Actually. Um, I’ve been having problems with— with my roommate. You know Trevor?” 

“Yeah, we’ve met. What’s wrong?” 

Auston swallows, and runs a hand through his hair. He sits up straighter in his bed— he’s going to need a lot to do this. “I’ve been so on edge recently. Just stressed about a lot of things. Personal things,” he adds hastily, when he can tell Freddie’s going to ask. 

Thankfully, Freddie doesn’t say anything, just hums. 

“When I’m feeling bad, sometimes I end up making everyone else feel bad, too, you know?” That sounds dumb, because of course Freddie knows. Freddie’s seen him lose his shit enough times, never in public, but almost always ruining the mood for everyone around him. Freddie’s been on the receiving end of it more than once, too, not even including the way he’s acting _now_. 

“Did you guys fight?” Freddie asks, gentle. 

“No. We…” Auston takes a deep breath. “I was just an asshole. Acted out and was just mean to him for no reason. And I wasn’t even mad at him, or at anyone. Just myself, maybe. Now he won’t talk to me, and he’s the only person I have left.” The last part tumbles out before he can help it, and he immediately wants to take it back and pretend he never said it. 

“You have me,” Freddie says, and it’s so much more serious than they normally are around each other. Auston feels completely out of his element, here. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess I do.” 

“Why don’t you just apologize?” Freddie asks. Somehow, it doesn’t even sound condescending, because it’s Freddie. He says it like it’s that easy. It _is, _or it _should be, _but Auston’s a coward, so. “You sound like you know why he’s mad. Maybe just say sorry.”

When Auston doesn’t reply, can’t think of anything good enough to say, Freddie continues. 

“I know it’s hard to own up to things, but sometimes you just have to suck it up. People care about you— they want to fix things, too. Sooner or later you have to just rip the bandaid off, you know? Can’t keep running forever.” 

Auston doesn’t really think they’re talking about Trevor anymore. 

Auston promises to mend things with Trevor, and Freddie makes Auston make another promise to keep texting.

“Don’t ghost me again,” Freddie says before he hangs up. “Promise?”

“Yeah, promise,” Auston says, and is surprised to find that he means it. Talking to Freddie didn’t fix anything, but it did help, since Freddie seems to always knows what to say. 

Freddie had told him, once, when they were both a little drunk and sad about something, maybe just a bad streak for them both, that he used to get so angry sometimes. He would get mean and lash out and even throw or break things. Auston can’t even imagine that— Freddie who is so calm and patient now, who is always there to save the day in net and never complains or loses his temper, even when he has every right to. But Freddie had admitted that sometimes he’s still afraid he’ll go back to being that way, even though it took a lot of self reflection and focusing on himself and his mental strength to be so much calmer now. 

“You learn that you just have to control what you can control, basically,” Freddie had said. “Everything else— I mean, sometimes I still get that way, like I can feel myself reacting negatively to everything around me. But you can’t focus on that stuff. I think about myself, and then how I want to act around other people, and— I want to be someone that I like. That helps.”

That’s what Auston thinks about when he goes into the living room, where Trevor’s lounged on the couch with the TV on. 

“Hey,” Auston says, awkward. 

Trevor doesn’t look away from the screen. “Hey,” he repeats. 

“I’m really sorry,” Auston says. Trevor glances over at him, surprised, and that just makes Auston feel worse about himself, that he’d given off the impression that he’d never be the one to apologize. 

“I— you know things have been hard,” Auston says, and rubs a hand at the back of his neck nervously. “I know it’s not an excuse, but— yeah. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you or our friends. You’ve been… just. Thank you. Thanks for being here.” 

Auston slumps, feeling wrung out emotionally already just from saying those few sentences. 

“I forgive you,” Trevor says, simple. He offers Auston a smile, then lets his legs slide off the couch in an invitation for Auston to sit. 

“You know,” Trevor starts after a while of them watching a movie in a comfortable silence, and turns down the volume of the TV. Something about his tone of voice makes Auston tense immediately. “If you don’t fix what’s really causing this, or at least learn to deal with it better, this shit is just gonna keep happening.

“You’ll just let it all build up until you snap again, and you’re just going to have to keep saying sorry, over and over.” 

“Yeah,” Auston replies, for lack of anything better to say. He knows it’s true, but he doesn’t say that he’s been scared for a long time already of being trapped in an endless cycle of this mess of feelings forever. 

“I’m not saying _I’m_ going to, but. People are going to get sick of it. It makes you hard to be around, sometimes.” 

“I know that.” He can’t help but be defensive, but Trevor looks over at him, and he doesn’t look angry or judgemental. Just sad. 

“Hey,” Trevor says, and knocks their knees together. “You know I’m saying this because I love you, right?” 

Auston’s vision blurs with a sudden wave of tears, and he blinks hard. He nods wordlessly. 

“A lot of people do. Promise,” Trevor says.

And that— he’s not quite sure that’s true, but Trevor sounds like he believes it, and that makes Auston believe it a little bit, too. 

Some things are good, some things aren’t. 

He manages to keep up a steady stream of texts with Freddie for the first few weeks of July and starts training more seriously again. He gets the compression sleeve off for good, and really throws himself into his workouts so at least his hockey won’t suffer from this shitty summer. All of these things help, but he’s not dumb enough to think that this means he’s better now, but rather is fine with letting himself be distracted. 

But Brownie gets traded. Hainsey, too, and Z, though they were never really close enough for Auston to dwell on it much. Enzo signs with Ottawa after, and that one really sucks. Auston had been prepared for it, had known how shitty their cap situation was even back in February when he put pen to paper and got all his contract stuff out of the way, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Auston calls him, and he doesn’t cry, which is both a surprise and a relief. At the same time, he practically can’t turn his phone on without hearing talk of Mitch’s contract talks being at a stalemate.

It gets worse when the conversations shift to finding someone to pin the blame on, either on Mitch, or Kyle, and then him and Will. Auston reads tweet after tweet about how he’s second best, or third or fourth or just not worth being in the conversation at all, then deletes the Twitter app, still breathing hard. 

He knows how good he is— 90% of the time he doesn’t need anyone telling him shit about the way he plays. The other 10% of the time, though— it’s hell, when he’s convinced that his only worth in life lies in how well he plays, and when he’s well aware that he’s never actually been good enough. Injuries, first round exits, disappointment after disappointment. 

In the midst of all of this, in an attempt to get over Mitch for good and finally clear his head, Auston lets Trevor drag him out to a bar. 

“Even if you don’t find yourself a man, you can at least get drunk and have fun with it instead of crying all over me,” Trevor says, smiling as they wait for their Uber.

Auston shoves him half heartedly, and laughs when Trevor does. “I could mope the whole time and still get more than your ugly mug,” he chirps, easy.

They end up going to a newer bar, one Auston hasn’t been to and isn’t really familiar with, what with being in Toronto most of the year. He can’t remember ever being this awkward and uncomfortable going out and trying to pick up before— before Mitch, but now he feels a little dizzy and overwhelmed. He needs a drink immediately.

Trevor ditches him pretty quickly once Auston assures him he’s fine, probably relieved to have Auston off his back for the first time in a long time. 

Auston tries to take it easy, convinced that drinking too much too fast is just going to make him lose control and turn this night completely sideways. He sits alone for a bit, sipping at his drink until it’s empty, feeling self conscious as everyone else around him either seems to be with friends, or paired off. He doesn’t think anyone’s really looking at him, but he can’t help but feel glaringly out of place. 

A deep voice startles him out of his thoughts. “It’s way too early to be looking this sad, man.”

Auston looks up, and the bartender is eyeing him with a crooked smile, leaning forward with both hands braced on the counter. If Auston didn’t know better, he’d think he looked— interested, maybe, and that thought sends both a thrill and unease down his spine. 

“That obvious?” Auston asks, rubbing at the condensation on his empty glass with one finger, just for something to do with his hands.

The bartender shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot of sad people around here to be able to tell.” Which— that makes Auston feel a little better, actually.

Auston takes a moment to look him over. He’s good looking, tall, almost as tall as Auston, maybe, which is something he’s never really gotten to experience with another guy before. The guy is built like Auston too, big and strong and confident, exactly what you’d expect from a bartender, he guesses. His blonde hair is long, pushed back and tucked behind his ears, and he has a respectable beard going, which admittedly, Auston is a little jealous of. Most importantly, he’s nothing like Mitch. 

“Want another one of those?” The guy asks, nodding at Auston’s glass.

“Uh, yeah,” Auston says, pushing it towards him. “I ordered a, uh, I think—“ 

“Oh I remember what you had,” the guy says easily, turning around already. 

That surprises Auston, cheeks heating thinking of this attractive stranger watching him and being interested enough to take notice of what he was drinking. 

“Thanks,” Auston says. “Um—“

The guy glances over his shoulder at him, the same grin on his face as earlier that makes Auston’s stomach flip. “Lucas.” 

“Lucas,” Auston repeats, and looks down at the counter. He clears his throat. “Auston,” he says, and flushes deeper when he manages to meet Lucas’s gaze. 

A few drinks in, and Lucas gets Auston talking, a little.

Auston lies about a few things— what he does, where he lives during the year— and is purposefully vague about other things, still slightly paranoid. If Lucas recognizes him (unlikely), he doesn’t call him on it, and makes easy conversation with him even as he has to serve other people, too. 

Lucas is originally from California (“Just one more thing we have in common,” Lucas said with a wink), but moved to Arizona for college, and ended up staying. He wants to be a vet, and is bartending this summer to help pay for his last year of school. If Auston wasn’t so messed up over Mitch, still, he might’ve fallen in love on the spot. 

Auston finds himself flirting back, glancing up through his lashes each time Lucas rocks forward, almost inadvertently. It’s reckless, which makes it... better, or worse, Auston doesn’t know. Just different, to not have to be so careful, to be drunk enough and anonymous enough not to care. 

“So Auston,” Lucas drawls finally, leaning forward again. Any closer and Auston could easily push off his seat and into a kiss. “What’s got you so fucked up, then?” 

Auston laughs nervously. “You’ve probably heard this a million times. Just getting over someone. Cliche, I know.” 

“Oh, the classic,” Lucas smirks. “Well.” His tone has gone from playful to purposeful, and he looks Auston right in the eye.

“If you decide you need help with that, I’m off at midnight.”

It’s as bold a proposition as Auston’s ever gotten, and he’s so caught off guard he doesn’t immediately think of a response. 

For a second, he lets himself think about it. He imagines a flash of blonde hair, strong arms pressing him into the sheets, the heat of skin on skin contact that he hasn’t had for months. But it’s fleeting, and as sad as it is, his thoughts revert to Mitch, as they always do. 

The last time they hooked up had been quick and dirty, a sloppy drunken makeout turning into Auston on his knees, Mitch pulling at his hair hard. It had hurt to the point where it was uncomfortable, but he didn’t mind, not when it was Mitch. 

If Auston goes home with Lucas, he’s inevitably going to end up comparing him with Mitch, and that’s not really a path he wants to go down, drunk or not. As much as he wants to just get this over with, hook up with someone else just to show himself and everyone else that he doesn’t _need _Mitch— he doesn’t trust himself at all right now. He doesn’t trust Lucas, either, which is a little unfair considering Lucas seems _perfect_, and hasn’t done anything to give him a reason to think that. 

“I don’t know,” Auston answers finally. “I’m sorry, I just—” He shrugs jerkily. “I don’t think I’m, like, ready?” 

Lucas doesn’t even flinch. “I get it,” he says. “But hey, you ever change your mind…”

“I know where to find you,” Auston finishes, and offers an apologetic smile. 

He doesn’t stick around long, after that. He feels weird, having just turned down a sure thing because of something that he’ll never have again. He also can’t find Trevor, so he takes that as a good thing and heads home by himself, a little more drunk than he’d like to be. 

Auston sits on his bed, and turns his phone over in his hands, over and over. 

Freddie picks up right as Auston is actually about to hang up, not wanting to hear the voicemail telling him Freddie isn’t available right now. 

“Hello?” Freddie asks. His voice is gravely, like he was asleep. And oh—

“Fuck,” Auston says. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, shit. I’ll let you—”

“‘S fine, Matts. Whats up?” There’s rustling on the other end, like Freddie’s sitting up. 

Auston feels horrible. He didn’t even think about Freddie being in Toronto. It’s two in the morning there. 

“Nothing. I can go,” Auston says. _Selfish, _he thinks. 

“How was your day?” Freddie says abruptly, like he’s grasping for something to keep the conversation going. “Tell me about your day.” 

Relief washes over him like a wave. Freddie doesn’t sound mad, and he’s trying to get Auston to talk. Even thousands of miles away, it’s like Freddie can sense that he just wants company. He wants Freddie’s company. 

“It was okay, skated and did some other stuff. Been working on a sick new move on the ice.”

“Really,” Freddie asks, but he sounds like he’s forcing himself to be overly unimpressed. 

Auston grins. “Yeah. And I’m not going to tell you what it is, because I’m going to beat you with it at training camp. You won’t even know what hit you, that’s how good it is.” 

Freddie laughs, this bright and genuine thing. Auston feels warm, and it has nothing to do with the night air filtering through his open window. 

“Okay, that all?” Freddie says, but he’s still audibly amused. 

“I went out tonight, too,” Auston says. “Trevor made me. To like this cool new bar and everything. And it wasn’t even a complete disaster. I’m drunk, also,” he adds, and then laughs without really knowing why.

“Oh, I can tell,” Freddie says. “You ramble when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“Yeah. Mitch used to say that all the time,” Auston says, and feels an immediate pang in his chest. 

Mitch used to laugh about it, actually, and Auston thought he had liked it, or thought it was endearing. Auston doesn’t have a filter when he’s had enough drinks in him, and now he feels sick at all the things he might’ve said to Mitch while stupid in love and vulnerable. How dense could he have been, to think Mitch wanted to be around him when he was like that? 

“Hey,” Freddie says in a blatant attempt to distract him. “Tell me about your night out, then. We don’t need to talk about M— about that.” 

Auston’s just fucked up enough that while he can recognize what Freddie’s doing, his brain still just wants to talk, and he does. 

“Super hot bartender,” Auston says, and lets himself fall backwards, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “He was perfect. He’s going to be a vet, and he asked to see pics of my dog. Totally wanted it, too.” 

“So it was a good night then, eh?” Freddie asks.

“No,” Auston sighs. “I chickened out. Told him I wasn’t ready.” 

“That’s alright,” Freddie says. “It’s not chickening out. If you’re not ready then you’re not ready.”

“It’s been three months,” Auston says. It’s about time he got over it, isn’t it? About time he moved on, apologized, tied up loose ends, then never thought about it again. Instead, he’s here, talking to the only teammate that wants anything to do with him who’s so far away, still so heartsick it hurts like hell. “I want to be ready. Maybe if I just make myself sleep with someone—”

“Don’t do that.” Freddie sounds almost alarmed. “Don’t force yourself to do something you’re not comfortable with.” 

“I’m just saying I could’ve,” Auston says without acknowledging that. “He wanted me.” 

That’s the strangest feeling of all, honestly, that he spent months with the aching desire to just be _wanted_, and the second he was, the fantasy all fell apart. He imagined it being so free and easy— someone would see him and think he was perfect, and they’d take him home, and let him stay, at least for a little while. But the reality was terrifying. From the panic that rose like bile in his throat at the thought of letting Lucas _see him, _naked with nowhere to hide, to the fear at the mere thought of being touched again by another someone who didn’t really care about him— it’s hard to be wanted, after all. 

“What’s really going on?” Freddie asks, like he can see right through him even over the phone, the two of them on opposite sides of the continent in the dark. 

He closes his eyes, and he imagines Freddie is right next to him, head on the pillow and watching him closely. His fingers tighten in the bedspread, squeezing the way he would if Freddie had linked their hands together for comfort. 

“I don’t think I want anyone to see me the way I let Mitch see me, maybe not ever again,” Auston admits, voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself in the silence. 

Because Mitch knows too much, now. He knows everything about him— the way he wants to be kissed, the places that make him shiver when touched lightly, how he sometimes likes it when it hurts a little. He knows that Auston is scared of the dark and the ocean, wants kids and at least two dogs and a huge house and also a lake cottage too, and that as much as he thrives in the spotlight in the biggest hockey market in the world, there’s always going to be a part of him that wishes he was just Auston, a kid from Arizona, and not Auston, the closeted professional athlete. 

But Mitch also knows more intimately than anyone that isn’t family that Auston can be _mean_, he gets angry, and he thinks frankly horrible things when he feels backed into a corner. He knows Auston gets nervous, panicked and withdrawn at the thought of people seeing him when he’s anything less than perfect, and he would do _anything _to protect that image of him. Mitch knows the insecurities he’s always hidden behind an impassive glance, especially in front of the cameras. Mitch saw his secrets and his hopes, then all these ugly things about him, too, and wanted no part of Auston in the end. 

“Part of being close with people is being honest,” Freddie says after a very long silence. “You’re never going to get to really experience intimacy if you’re scared to open up.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to just stop being scared?” Auston demands, voice rising, and there— he’s doing it again, the anger and malice coming out just because he feels seen, only intensified by the inherent vulnerability of being drunk. 

“It’s not going to get better until it gets worse, I guess?” Freddie says. “I know I said you’ll be ready when you’re ready, but, you know, something one of my old goalie coaches told me when I was going through a rough stretch— the only way out is through.”

“Thought you said not to force myself.”

“Yeah,” Freddie laughs quietly. “I mean— I’m not like, an expert, so, take everything I say with a grain of salt. Life’s weird like that though, right? Like you have to find that balance between keeping yourself safe and doing what you’re scared of. That’s what we’re all trying to do, you know?” 

Auston knows what Freddie means, but he still can’t wrap his head around it, this daunting paradoxical idea of not knowing until you try, but being too paralyzed by fear to ever attempt it. If it’s a balance he needs to find, right now, at least, he’s absolutely nowhere close. 

Eventually, he’s going to have to get over this, and let go of the idea that he was the victim, and is messed up because of that. He doesn’t want to live like this. He _can’t_. 

“Auston?” Freddie asks, when the silence stretches on too long. “You still there?” 

Something inside him breaks, the thought of Lucas and how he didn’t quite manage to convince himself that he actually wanted it, the twist of his stomach and Freddie’s soft voice, talking to him at two in the morning just because. 

“I thought Mitch cheated on me,” Auston says, suddenly. “I was in love with him, and he didn’t want me.” Some part of him feels like there should be a bigger reaction than this, some dramatic ripple through the universe, this earth shattering admission out loud to someone that isn’t himself. But the house is still silent, the night is still dark, and Freddie’s still on the line. 

Freddie sucks in an audible breath, like he’s surprised. “You weren’t… together, I thought?” 

“No,” Auston says, resigned. At least Mitch didn’t leave that part out when he told everyone. “I guess we weren’t. He had every right to do whatever he wanted.” 

“You were allowed to be upset, too,” Freddie reasons. “You’re allowed to be sad. You loved him.”

Auston swipes at his eyes, furious at himself for letting this slip out, and then getting emotional over it to boot. He knows he can feel whatever he wants. Doesn’t mean he thinks he deserves to, or even wants to. 

“I don’t want to cry over this anymore,” he hiccups, and more tears spill out despite himself. 

“It’s okay to cry,” Freddie says. “Let yourself be okay with that.”

“I just want to get better,” Auston says, and it comes out so desperate it’s like he’s begging, like Freddie’s supposed to do something about it.

“You will,” Freddie says, sure, like he’s determined, even more than Auston is. “Baby steps. Out, through, right?” he asks.

“Right,” Auston repeats, letting Freddie’s voice replay in his head. _Out, through_. 

**Author's Note:**

> -Auston is a very, VERY unreliable narrator  
-Auston at one point was under the impression Mitch cheated on him, but they weren't together. At one point he slut shames Mitch  
-Instead of seeking help, Auston copes by drinking  
-Auston has serious issues with self worth and expresses them in unhealthy ways. I would say Auston is depressed through a lot of this


End file.
